Blood Moon Rising
by ScreamingInSilence
Summary: ...Jazz sat there, not quite realizing that Prowl had paused in his tale... Jazz writes a letter, Prowl tells a story. May be viewed as PJ


_**Life is like a deck o' cards. Lookin' at th' hand it deals ya is a challenge in itself. Sometimes we're dealt a winnin' hand, somethin' that makes us want ta jump fer joy. Other times... well, more oft'n than not they just ain't worth mentionin'. **_

Life is like a roller coaster. It's swift an' sharp, curves an' dives, leaves ya head spinnin' so badly ya just want ta collapse in a heap an' go inta recharge. Like any good coaster, though, it eventually ends, whether yer coaster cruises to a stop or derails completely.

Life is like a gadabout. Seekin' pleasure wherever they can find it, reapin' th' harvest, takin', taintin', bruisin' an' breakin' before movin' on ta find somewhere new, someone different.

Life is like a MIDI. Things interconnect with th' main source, twistin' an' twinin', travellin' backwards an' forwards, sendin' information to where it has to be. After a while, somethin's gonna give.

Life is like nota bene. Seein' somethin', whether it is beautiful or compellin' to look at, if it captures yer attention wholly and alone, it will only cause ya ta miss out on ev'rythin' else wonderful out there.

Life is like a construction site. It builds up inta somethin' strange an' amazin', somethin' others can only fawn over. With all that loose material lyin' 'round, though, someone's bound ta get hurt.

Life is like a winter wonderland. Ya can play ta yer spark's content in the snow, lay down an' make snow-angels, fool around an' get in trouble. Suddenly, out of nowhere, th' heavy stuff really starts comin' down, trappin' ya, freezin' an' alone.

Life is like a feral animal. Capture them, train them, keep them as pets, love them, snuggle them, domesticate them, show them a life th' likes they've never seen 'fore. In th' end, they're still wild creatures.

Life is like an endless tunnel, a loop that keeps repeatin'. Ya finally find somethin' ta care about, someone ta love with ev'rythin' ya have, an' suddenly they're torn away from ya, as if they never existed.

Life never lets ya forget when ya screw things up real bad. When it's yer fault that ya lost one of th' most important beings in yer life, because of a reckless mistake that ya made, somethin' done in th' heat of battle with no thought fer th' matter.

Life makes ya remember things like that. Mem'ries that are too painful, scars that never heal. Some things ya could almost kill ta live without. Some have done just that.  
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Jazz paused in his writing to glance up at the mech that had silently appeared beside him, moonlight glinting off his armour, showering the surrounding glade in a dizzying array of reds.  
"Ain't it a little late ta be up an' about?"  
"You weren't there." Which, if translated properly, also doubled to mean 'I was worried about you.' Prowl still had some trouble admitting his feelings out loud.

"Sending a message to your friend again?"  
Tacticians always seemed to know what others were feeling, though. The saboteur grinned at his black and blood red partner.  
"It's been a while. Can't have her thinkin' I'm dead now. 'M tryin' ta keep my promise."

He held the Second's gaze before the other turned to stare at the moon. Jazz could almost see the electrical currents slowing in their travel through the mainframe as the standing mech relaxed slightly. Smiling, the sab focused on the datapad in his hands, intent on finishing his missive.  
"It is weeping."

That was an attention-snatching phrase one would not associate with the stoic Autobot. The Special Operations officer shook his head in bemused amusement. Laying the datapad down on a near-by rock, he lent forward, arms resting on his knee couplings, and regarded his mate with curious optics.  
"What's weepin', love?"

"The moon." Prowl enunciated the words, voice echoing mellifluously across the small river that cut through the glade. "I believe the humans call it a blood moon. It is a rare occurrence, once every three millenia. There is a myth behind it. Completely without logic."

"A myth?" Now he had Jazz's total attention, and the black and crimson saboteur eagerly prodded the other mech. "C'mon Prowl, ya can't stop there. What's this myth all 'bout?"  
He pulled his best puppy face, not an easy feat when you are a towering thirty-foot robot wearing a visor. Prowl succumbed.

"You have been entertaining of Bluestreak too often." The Porsche pulled a triumphant grin as Prowl sighed in resignation. "Very well, Jazz. Remember, this is a human myth, and thus a little unusual."

_"This myth, like so many others, begins many eons ago, in a world abundant with life. Creatures wild and free inhabited this land in tribes of light and dark, mingling yet staying separate. Many of these tribes dwelt deep underground, in caverns of glittering rock walls and diamond-covered ceilings, shying from the warmth of the sun. For even in this wayward paradise evil lurked, great monsters of ivory maws and poison-dripping claws that stalked the land. _

Despite such dangers, three brave tribes chose to live in the sun-filled wonderland. The Keltahr,the phoenix tribe, gifted with the power of flight and guardianship of fire; the Burace, the tree-spirit tribe, gatherers and peacekeepers entrusted with the life of all woodland beings; the Tsaslon, the cat tribe, hunters of the night and guardians of the moon. Each tribe would willingly raise its arms if either of its brethren were in danger. Such comraderie was, regrettably, to be their downfall.

None were sure when it struck, but the peaceful Burace were the first to fall, felled by a virus the likes of which had never been seen. Retrieval teams from both the Keltahr and Tsaslon were sent to bring back the corpses, and those survivors left behind. By the time the two surviving tribes realized that the virus, still active, could be spread simply by touch, it was too late. Wails of horror and loss echoed through the underground caverns, striking at the hearts of those living there.

Not all perished, though. As fires raged uncontrollably through the villages, survivors slowly made their way to safety, praying that those they loved would be their waiting for them. One child, a she-feline of the Tsaslon tribe, ignored the words of warning from other survivors, fighting her way through the fires to find her family. What she found tore her apart in every way imaginable. Surviving elders believed that the sight of her family's burning corpses drove her mad enough to flee into the Forbidden Woodlands.

It was impossible to elicit agreement from the survivors as to what had befallen her. Some believed that she had succumbed to the illness that had destroyed her family. Some, that greater powers had taken her. Yet others concurred that she had become one of the demons that tormented the land. All were of the opinion, however, that mere days after vanishing into the Forbidden Woodlands, a terrifying noise had erupted from within, a noise that accompanied death. That same night, for the first time since the virus had struck, was a Full Moon, a **Sangue Leuad**_ -- a Blood Moon."_

Jazz sat there, not quite realizing that Prowl had paused in his tale until the older mech raised a hand to the moon and began to speak again, voice softer than before.

"The end of the myth is not exactly clear, but it says that in the month leading up to the Blood Moon, one person in the world can hear the death wail of the she-feline and that, on the night of the Blood Moon, can see the face of the she-feline carved in the moon's surface, that the blood coloration is her tears as she weeps for one soul who, whether they realize it or not, is losing their own family."

Jazz froze momentarily before relaxing again; it was only a myth, those noises he had heard were merely animals as they hunted through the night. Nothing to worry about, right? Right.

He could practically feel the Datsun's optics boring holes through him, red moonlight casting an eerie glow across his frame. Prowl's voice held a tone the saboteur could not place a name to.

"It would certainly explain why you had such a hard time recharging all month, would it not? Or would you prefer I look at this logically?"

"Nah love, logic-less is just fine." _Just 'cause I've been buggin' ya to throw logic outta th' window for years and when ya finally do it kinda creeps me out is no reason to be logical again._

Off to the side Jazz could see Prowl nod once - whether at him or the moon he wasn't sure - before turning in the relative direction of the highway that lead back to the Ark.

"You have patrol at 0500 hours. Do not be too late."

The Porsche watched his black and blood red counterpart until he disappeared past the treeline. Then he allowed himself a tiny shiver; for a story, it sure had been creepy. Not that he was scared. It had, however, given him a new thought trail for the missive he had been writing. Grabbing the datapad from where he had left it, Jazz hurriedly scrawled in the final few lines of his message before scanning it, nodding in satisfaction. He would give it to his contact to deliver in the morning.

Pushing himself up from the grassy glade, the black and scarlet mech paused. A sound had caught his attention, putting him instantly on guard. Scanning the area turned up nothing, but for some strange reason, he had the feeling of being watched, and he simply couldn't shake it.

_"Now you understand."_

It was soft, no more than a breeze, but the voice held an unfathomable sadness, a wish for something better. Looking down at the datapad in his hands, the Special Operations officer shook his head in uncertainty before starting off towards the highway for home. He took one final glance at the full moon before transforming. Some things were better off left unknown.  
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_**Life shows us, though, that we can't always protect th' ones we love, that we are bound ta stuff it up. Don't mean it's a bad thing, 'specially if we learn from th' experience. Just means we need ta be more careful, and can't call it quits if it gets too hard. **_

Heard a story tonight that reminded me o' that fact. Some days I don't want ta come outta recharge, don't want ta remember what I saw, what I heard, what I _did__**. Just want ta let th' mem'ries whisk me away ta th' good times. **_

But then again, mem'ries are somethin' that help us keep fightin' this war. I owe ya for teachin' me that. 

**SIGNING OFF.**  
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Moral of the story: Do not get out of bed at two in the mornin' to start workin' on a fic idea.

**Silver**


End file.
